


You'd give your life, you'd sell your soul, but here it comes again

by kiwiana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-12
Updated: 2010-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 23:57:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2129295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/kiwiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Sam notices about his brother is that Dean is softer now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'd give your life, you'd sell your soul, but here it comes again

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through to episode 6.03. Title is from a Queen song. 
> 
> None of the Supernatural characters belong to me, or I'd be a lot richer than I am.
> 
> Originally published on LiveJournal 2010-10-12.

The first thing Sam notices about his brother is that Dean is softer now. Not just physically, although, yeah, that too—the Dean that tucked into every meal as though it was his first in a month is well and truly gone—but mentally, he’s a little bit more mellow, a little bit less alert.   
  
Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. When Sam extracted a promise from his brother before leaping headfirst into the cage, he really meant it; he  _wanted_  Dean to have the family life, to settle down with Lisa, to find some sort of purpose in raising Ben.  
  
It’s just that seeing his brother again brings back just how much everything can change in a year. When Dean says he’s going back—going _home_ , as if Dean Winchester has ever put down roots in his life—Sam realises that things have changed more than he could have anticipated.  
  
But despite the fact that he’s in the running to become Mr Guy Next Door 2010, Dean comes back. Hunting’s in the blood, after all; that’s what Samuel says when he hears, and Sam’s inclined to agree. It doesn’t take long at all for the two of them to fall back into old habits, comfortable routines; Sam can almost pretend nothing’s changed.  
  
Well, except for one or two things—like the way Dean calls home, every day, ‘just to check in’, or the way he tries to have heart-to-hearts in semi-public places, like he doesn’t  _know_  Sam’s not interested in discussing the cage, or the way he always hits the motel reception first, making sure to get a room with two queens—something they haven’t done for  _years_ —almost like he knows Sam would ‘forget’ and get a room with one bed.   
  
But since the first night, Sam has become painfully aware of what else has changed. The old Dean—the pre-suburbia Dean—was ready to get up and go at a moment’s notice, if he needed to; always at least half-dressed, to Sam’s eternal frustration.  
  
The new Dean, though, the settled Dean? He sleeps naked. And if Sam doesn’t get to take advantage of this soon, he might just explode.

* * *

It’s after a particularly gruesome hunt—Biblical plagues had nothing on this one and, ugh, he doesn’t want to think about it anymore—that Sam finally snaps.  
  
In his defence, Dean was being a cocky bastard. Not only that, but he’s either the most oblivious person on the planet or he  _knows_  that Sam’s taken to jerking off twice a day just to take the edge off and really, Sam wouldn’t put it past his brother to play up to that rather than making it easier. Hell, that’s what it feels like sometimes—the things that come out of Dean’s mouth with that shit-eating grin to accompany it, there’s no way he doesn’t realise the effect he’s having. But when Dean, lounging back on the bed in nothing but his boxer shorts, the bastard, downs half a beer in a way that’s practically pornographic—Sam’s pretty sure Dean is  _deep-throating the goddamn bottle_ —yeah, there’s no way anyone could blame Sam for reaching his breaking point.  
  
“Somethin’ wrong, Sammy?” Dean challenges, and Sam doesn’t know whether he wants to throttle him or fuck him. Well, okay, that’s a bare-faced lie. Sam knows exactly what he wants to do, and he’s damned if he’s going to let Dean fuck with him anymore.  
  
“You’re damn right something’s wrong,” Sam growls, standing up and using all his height advantage to lean over Dean’s bed. “Something is very fucking wrong, because you are being a smug, cock-teasing bastard and  _you are going to kill me_. And you fucking know it, too.”  
  
Infuriatingly, Dean just smirks at him. “Well, if you weren’t so damn easy to read, it wouldn’t be half as easy to get you all worked up, would it?”  
  
Sam can feel the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Is that what you’re trying to do, Dean? Get me all worked up until I snap? Because if so, it’s fuckin’ working.”  
  
Dean shakes his head, puts his beer on the table beside his bed. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re still standing; ergo, haven’t snapped yet.”  
  
Sam’s brain barely has time to process ‘ergo’— _really, Dean?_ —before he’s on the bed with his hand wrapped around Dean’s bicep. He can feel how hard Dean his, feel his brother’s breath hot against his ear. “I’ll show you snapped,” he mutters, crashing their mouths together. Dean’s tongue slides into his mouth, all fire and desperation, and Sam groans despite himself.  
  
“Bastard,” he hisses as he fumbles with his zipper. Dean chuckles, reaching under the bed for the bottle Sam knew would be there.  
  
“Come the fuck on, Sam,” he says, half a demand and half a whine and really, who’s Sam to say no to that voice? He holds out his hand for Dean to drizzle some lube onto his fingers, then kisses his brother again as he slides three fingers into him. Okay, so maybe he’s still a little pissed about all the cock-teasing—but really, who could blame him? It’s not like Dean’s complaining, anyway. Sam reaches for the bottle again, slicking himself up and settling between Dean’s legs.   
  
He thinks about exacting a little revenge, making Dean beg for it, but Sam’s self-control is shot and he’s too fucking horny for it to be worth it. Instead, he snakes his hands up Dean’s arms, pinning his wrists above his head as he finally, fucking  _finally_  slams himself inside. Dean grunts, the only hint that it’s been over a year since he’s had this—it fucking better be, anyway—and Sam lets go.  
  
This is how it’s always been with them; Sam can channel all his strength and frustration into Dean, because Dean can take it. Sam can feel Dean’s arms straining underneath him, itching to grab something, sink his fingernails into Sam’s skin, and maybe Sam’s getting just a little bit of satisfaction out of the fact that he can’t.  
  
They both know there’s no way this is going to last long and neither of them are holding back; Sam finally lets go of one of Dean’s arms to wrap his hand around his brother’s cock instead and true to form, Dean grabs onto Sam’s back trying to pull him closer, harder, deeper—as if Sam  _could_.  
  
“Fuckin’ missed this,” Dean gasps and that’s when Sam comes with a yell, gripping Dean’s cock just a little too tightly. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he follows suit a second later.  
  
It feels like hours before either of them can move, and even then, it’s only as far as a discarded towel to clean themselves up with. Sam half-considers moving back to his own bed—there’s no wet spot there, anyway—but the truth is, he really doesn’t fucking want to.  
  
“You getting dressed?” Dean asks, but Sam can hear the real question behind it.  
  
“Nope,” he says, rolling over and draping one arm over his brother. “Figured I’d take a leaf out of your book for a change.”  
  
Dean chuckles, already half-asleep. Sam’s right behind him.


End file.
